


Everything Its Opposite

by autoeuphoric (FreezingRayne)



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Blow Jobs, Casual Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 17:14:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2781227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreezingRayne/pseuds/autoeuphoric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kaneki shifts in his chair. “I—do you, uh, like me?”</p>
<p>Uta stands close so Kaneki has to arch his neck to keep him in sight. <i>I like touching you. I like making masks for you. I like watching your body move. I’d love to watch you break apart and then put yourself together again.</i></p>
<p>There’s no way to explain all that, so he just says, “Yeah, I do."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything Its Opposite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pixelicious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixelicious/gifts).



> Hot damn, does the fandom have mixed opinions on Uta. I find him creepy and gorgeous and fascinating, and I hope the requester likes this. There were no specific details in the prompt, so I just went for it.

The first time Kaneki comes into the shop, they watch each other. Uta stares at him while he takes his measurements, and Kaneki studies Uta with a careful fascination that he hides behind ragged bangs, like his own curiosity scares him.

Kaneki has thin brows, a small mouth, and a round face. The diagonal slash of the eye-patch throws off the innocent symmetry, saving him from looking too childish. After he and Touka-chan leave, Uta dwells on that face and goes through a pot and a half of coffee and dozens of sketches before he finally gets it right.

He takes everything he likes about Kaneki’s face and flips it, gives him a wide, snarling mouth, conceals his human eye, covers all that pale skin in black leather. The effect is kinky and grotesque and Uta loves it. Instead of nervous the mask’s smile will make Kaneki brash, and the curiosity will become arrogant surety.

“It suits him,” Yoshimura-san says wonderingly, the next time Uta stops by Anteiku. “I don’t know how you do it.”

Uta says, “Everything wants to be its opposite.” He’s not sure what he means—it sounds cool, and that’s good enough for him—but then Kaneki emerges from Aogiri Tree’s central building after weeks of captivity, and Uta knows the mask has been made flesh.

           

The transformation is at the same time subtle and glaringly obvious.

There’s the hair, of course, and Kaneki pushes the monochromatic vibe to its limits, dressing mostly in black and white. He no longer wears the eye-patch when he isn’t around humans, and he doesn’t bother to smile when he isn’t amused. He’s still quiet, but it is not a timid quiet. His calmness is charred, blackened around the edges and ready to crumble at the slightest touch. Like a ceramic mask, the blaze has left him stronger and much more beautiful, but the fragility isn’t gone. It’s crystallized, melting down into a delicate glaze.

 

It’s not exactly a crush.

Uta doesn’t get crushes, generally. There are people he wants to be around, to look at and to touch, but he’s never _needed_ anyone in that trembling, stomach-clenching way pop songs describe, or how Itori seems to need the guys she shacks up with. It might make him strange but, well. Uta’s never claimed to be normal.

 

Uta shows up unannounced one afternoon with a stack of preliminary sketches for Hinami-chan’s mask; when he isn’t much inspired he is more likely to take outside input.

He walks in to find Kaneki shirtless and straddling a kitchen chair, leaning on his crossed arms as Tsukiyama massages his back. His hair is a sweaty tumble, hanging down to cover his eyes, knuckles gripping the back of the chair. Tsukiyama has his sleeves rolled up and his shirt half unbuttoned. It’s weirdly more awkward than if Uta had walked in on them fucking.

“Well, well,” Tsukiyama smirks, grinding his knuckles into Kaneki’s left shoulder. “If it isn’t the mask maker.”

Kaneki tenses and raises his head. His mouth is wet and very pink, and his left eye is a perfect glowing red. He’s hungry or turned on or pissed off. Probably a lot of the first two and a little of the third.

“Yo.” Uta walks past them to put the sketches on the table. Far be it for him to begrudge anyone their preferences, but Tsukiyama? Seriously? He may be willing to get down on his knees in every sense of the word, and Uta can see the appeal of that, but he is _really_ tacky. The French is bad enough—don’t even get Uta started on the argyle.

Kaneki shrugs Tsukiyama off. “We’re finished. I’ll get Hanami-chan for you.”

Uta already has his hand on the doorknob. “No big deal. Later.”

           

“Have you always liked guys?”

Uta has his fingers on Kaneki’s neck when he asks the question, so he feels the answer before he hears it.

“Is this part of the process? Last time you told me to try older women.”

Uta copies down the measurements into his notebook. As he thought, Kaneki’s jaw is widening; the mask needs adjustments. “Did you?”

“Ha. No.” Kaneki is silent for a moment. “This is about Tsukiyama, isn’t it?”

Uta feels the ridges of Kaneki’s cheeks and the shape of his jaw. “The two of you seem pretty friendly.” It’s none of his business, but he can’t help pushing when it comes to Kaneki.

“I was never interested in men before.” Kaneki smoothes his hands across jeans that don’t need smoothing. “But after becoming a ghoul, I’m…”

“Hungry for new things?”

Kaneki’s skin heats under Uta’s fingers. “Rize-san liked men,” he says quietly. “I think that’s part of it. That, and distinctions like that don’t…don’t seem to have much significance anymore.” He tips his chin up when Uta gives it a tap. “But Tsukiyama-san isn’t…he’s not—.”

“Your boyfriend?”

Kaneki exhales hard. “Yeah. He’s just—just convenient. Oh, wow, that sounds really awful when I say it out loud.”

“Naw, not so much. You might as well take advantage of his hard-on for you.”

And speaking of hard-ons—Kaneki’s jeans are stretched tight over an erection that has sprung up as a result of the touching, or the conversation, or maybe just from being nineteen. Uta feels an unexpectedly intense rush of satisfaction.

“Uta-san, are you….” Kaneki trails off, like he really hopes Uta will finish the sentence for him. “Is this you…” He swallows. “Are you coming on to me?”

Uta skims his fingers through Kaneki’s hair and down to the knob of his spine. He hadn’t been, really, but what the hell. “Would you be into that?”

Kaneki shifts in his chair. “I—do you, uh, like me?”

Uta stands close so Kaneki has to arch his neck to keep him in sight. _I like touching you. I like making masks for you. I like watching your body move. I’d love to watch you break apart and then put yourself together again._

There’s no way to explain all that, so he just says, “Yeah, I do.”

           

They head back into Uta’s room, because why draw it out? It’s not like either of them needs to be romanced. Kaneki takes in the wooden shades and heavy, rust-spattered, iron-framed mirror. Sketches of masks cover the walls. Some are Uta’s designs, others people have given him. Maybe one day he’ll pull one down and bring it to life. Kaneki cracks his knuckles and runs his fingertips across the shiny chipped wood of an antique dressing table.

“Were you expecting severed limbs?” Uta asks. “Because I keep those in the guest room.” 

“It suits you,” Kaneki says, before smiling in apology. “Sorry. I don’t actually know you that well, do I?”

“We should probably keep it that way. If you did, you’d probably like me even less than you do now.”  

“Uta-san—.”

“Just Uta is okay. I’m about to take you clothes off, right?”

Kaneki looks away and laughs. The lamp on the desk digs perfect hollows under his cheeks. “Yeah.” He pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it onto the bed. He always looks so small that it surprises Uta when he stands close and they’re about the same height. It’s _definitely_ a surprise when Kaneki leans in and kisses him.

“Oh,” he says against his mouth.

Kaneki pulls back at once, flushed. “Sorry. No…no kissing?”

“No, it’s fine. It’s good.”

And it is. Dry, textured lips and the slippery heat of his tongue, hair silky and clean when Uta puts his fingers in it. He drags a thumb across the soft skin beneath Kaneki’s ear and he shudders.  

The bedsheets are black, and Kaneki glows against them. Uta takes a moment to appreciate the contrast. Kankei shifts awkwardly on the mattress, still cracking his knuckles. Uta doesn’t know if it’s from the scrutiny, or because he’s being made to wait.

Crawling up beside him, he unbuttons Kaneki’s jeans, Kaneki raising his hips obligingly. Uta smoothes his hands up bare, downy legs, brushing his thumbs over the muscles of his calves, the crooks of his knees.

"You have nice knees, Kaneki-kun.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

Uta sits between Kaneki’s legs, taking him in from this angle. Kaneki bites his lip, and he sees hints of the vulnerable boy who’d come into his shop for the first time last year. Uta likes that—how he was the first one to turn that face monstrous.

Kaneki props himself up on his elbows. “You really like looking, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“What are you looking for, exactly?”

Uta tastes the warm skin of Kaneki’s thigh. “Hmm…not sure.”

“It’s not…” Kaneki’s voice billows out, goes higher as Uta laps at the stiff, pink point of his nipple. “—To eat me, right?” He asks it the same moment Uta bites down. A nip, really, but Kaneki still jolts and lets out a sharp yip of sound.

“No more than I want to eat any of my other customers.” Uta says, and bites the other one. Not surprising he’s asking—the last two people Kaneki has messed around with have both been dead-set on gobbling him up.

Uta paints watercolor strokes up his abdomen, feeling the trembling of his muscle, the way they hitch with every breath. The dips where his thighs meet his hips are incredibly soft, and Kaneki squirms when he brushes them with the pads of his fingers. Ticklish.

Uta moves back up his body to feel the tendons in his neck as he breathes. He grips one hand around Kaneki’s throat and squeezes. Just an experiment; he wants to feel the tension in his body, the uptake in his pulse. He wonders how tightly he would have to squeeze for Kaneki to release his kagune.

“Uta-san…”

Uta let’s go. “Sorry.”

Kaneki shakes his head against the pillow, hair feathering against his forehead. “No, just—you’re kind of a tease.”

“Don’t mean to be.”

Uta has had plenty of cocks in his mouth, but only two of them had been still attached to their owners. Once had been for curiosity, and once for money. Both had been awkward and uninspiring.

Kaneki is different. Makes sense, since he is probably the most exceptional being in the world. He moves like he can read minds, like he can tell Uta wants a show. He arches his back and grabs at his hair, rolls his hips. The smell of Kaneki surrounds Uta—the sweetness of human flesh combined with the bloody, chaotic smell of a ghoul.

“Uta-san—.” Kaneki’s mouth opens wide and his voice chokes off for a moment. “You’re—you’re good at this.”

Uta wipes away a thread of saliva. “Really?” He rubs his lips over the soft, slick head and Kaneki moans, gasps finally verbalized. The quivering in his thighs builds, and Uta feels himself getting caught up and held in Kaneki’s rush. He drags his hands urgently across his legs and stomach, imagining he’s shaping the skin beneath them. He pulls off for a moment to mouth at the inside of Kaneki’s thigh, watching his expressions collapse and reform.

“Uta, please don’t stop—.” Still polite, even while he’s pawing at Uta’s head, taking hold of his cock and pushing it between Uta’s lips. Fluid drips onto his tongue and his mouth floods with saliva.

_Don’t bite down,_ he instructs himself. With Kaneki’s regenerative powers, his dick would probably grow back, but it wouldn’t be a very friendly thing to do.

Uta plans to swallow—or, he has no plans not to—but when Kaneki’s gasps get desperate and his body moves in fitful pulses, Uta pulls back and uses his hand instead. He does it so he can watch Kaneki’s eyes squeeze shut and his mouth hang open as he paints cloudy white over his stomach.

His come smells unusual too, and Uta licks curiously at the tip of one finger. Then he licks the rest of it off Kaneki’s abdomen. “That—.” Kaneki’s voice cracks on each breath. “That was—.” He hesitates, like he isn’t sure he’s allowed to talk to Uta while he does this.

Uta wipes his lips with the back of his hand. “You taste really strange. Good strange, though.”

“Yeah, I—.” Kaneki colors. “I’ve heard that before.”

His gaze drops, and Uta realizes he’s focusing in on his crotch. Uta reaches down and adjusts himself. “Mm. Don’t worry about me.”

Kaneki licks his lips. “You don’t want me to?”

Uta shrugs. “I’m fine.”

“Oh. Okay.” He’s confused, but that’s fine. Confusion doesn’t do lasting damage. “Where did my pants go?” He starts to sit up, and without thinking Uta stops him with a hand in the center of his chest. Kaneki’s eyes widen and his whole body ripples—his kagune wants to come out. His recent orgasm is probably the only reason it doesn’t.

“You can stay if you want,” Uta says. “It’s pretty late.”

Kaneki looks so good right now—post-coital and tousled and slightly surprised—and Uta doesn’t want him to leave.

Kaneki relaxes warily. Uta’s freaking him out a little, it’s obvious. “What about you? Isn’t this your bed?”

“It’s a big bed. And I probably won’t sleep much tonight anyway.” He’s got an order to finish, and he wants to sketch out a couple ideas he’d gotten while going down on Kaneki. And if Kaneki sticks around, he might have a chance to sketch _him._

“Okay, I guess.”

Kaneki goes out to the studio to call Tsukiyama, and Uta lights candles; the shadows will be more interesting that way. For some reason, this amuses Kaneki.

“Romantic,” he comments, as he climbs back into bed.

Uta tips his head to the side. He hadn’t thought about it like that.

“Are you going to watch me sleep?” Kaneki asks, laughter still haunting the edges of his voice.

Uta holds up his sketch book. “I’m going to draw you when you sleep. That okay?”

Kaneki blinks in bemusement. “Sure.”

           

“Uta-chan!” Itori exclaims when, over drinks the following evening, Uta tells her everything. “You’re so scandalous! Could it be true?”

Uta fishes an eyeball out from the bottom of his martini glass. “Could what be true?”

“Are you actually in love with him?”

Uta tips his chair back until it hits the wall and considers trying to explain that he wouldn’t know what love was even if he felt it and besides, loving Kaneki would be like loving a time bomb. Because despite the new strength and jaded horror in Kaneki’s eyes, there is still too much of the old Kaneki left. He still cares too much, and those two selves are going to pull him apart. Falling in love with that would be dangerous.

“Naw.” Uta pops the eyeball between his teeth. “Too young for me.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Aromantic/ace Uta, or an Uta who is more interested in the aesthetic, tactile experience of sex rather than the sex itself, is a head-canon I cherish. I also ship him with a bunch of people, but I'm really glad I got the opportunity to write this. 
> 
> Again, I hope the requester enjoyed! This was really just a shot in the dark.


End file.
